


No Place Like Home

by teaDragon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Post-Battle of Five Armies, communication issues, some mentions of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5399291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaDragon/pseuds/teaDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the quest, Bilbo finds himself cold, lonely and miserable, holed in up some run-down human inn out in the wilds. This isn't how he'd expected to spend his Yule. If he had his way, he'd be warm and happy and surrounded by his dwarves. But with things the way they are, he knows better than to ask for the impossible.</p><p>What Bilbo neglected to take into account was the stubbornness of dwarves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Place Like Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liasangria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liasangria/gifts).



> Have a happy hobbit (and many dwarves) holiday! :}

Bilbo shivered, drawing the threadbare quilt closer around his shoulders from where he was curled up on the lumpy bed, thinking wistfully of warm food and hot tea. A window would have been nice, but with as little coin as he had, all he could afford was the cheapest room in the basement of the inn. It was more of a storage closet that someone had managed to cram a bed into than a room, really. His dinner was a hard piece of bread and a chunk of cheese. At least it wasn’t cram.

Looking up at the cracked and stained walls, listening to the heavy footsteps and voices from the bar loud above him, he sniffled, and fished out a handkerchief from his pocket wryly. It was so cold down here he hadn’t bothered to take off his coat or scarf upon entering. Blowing softly on his fingers, he curled up tighter, making a vain attempt to conserve more heat. 

He was lonely, freezing and miserable, the only thing that he was sure would greet him in the morning was being turned out of the inn and the cold he’d no doubt wake up with at this rate.

It wasn’t exactly how he’d expected to spend the night before Yule. 

But then, things so rarely went the way Bilbo planned them to. Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to the hobbit after all.

.*:*:*.

Things certainly hadn’t gone as he’d expected in Erebor.

For one thing, they’d always spoken of the great kingdom as if it were already reclaimed, describing the huge halls and bustling market places, giant forges sending heat throughout the entire mountain, ringing with craft and wonder. Some times they’d talk about the royal wing, and describe with excruciating detail the lavish bathrooms and huge fireplaces, beds covered in lush furs and silk. Beds more than big enough for _three_ , though as Bilbo had pointed out he was much smaller than his two lovers. However he would rise to the occasion to take up as much space as he could, he assured them.

That was another thing he had cautiously begun to expect. To no longer be just himself, respectable bachelor Bilbo Baggins living alone in his spacious hole. For a time, be had dared to hope not only for one life companion, but for _two_. A King and his captain of the guard no less.

But then the goldsickness had come along, and that was the last of those pleasant thoughts.

When all was said and done, the frozen earth covered in corpses of elf, dwarf, man and orc alike, Bilbo hadn’t known where his place was anymore.

Not all of Dain’s dwarves were too happy about his presence there, and on top of that neither Dwalin or Thorin seemed to want anything to do with him. Every time he had approached them they would find some excuse to be elsewhere. It had stung deeply, but perhaps it wasn’t as surprising as it should have been.

Bilbo knew they’d loved one another since they were children, and that affection had only grown and deepened with age. They were likely each other’s Ones, a deeply sacred bond to any dwarf and both were of noble birth. It was a perfect match. There was no way a King would be allowed to marry two people, especially one who wasn’t even a dwarf. No, that dream of being three together had come to an end when Bilbo had decided to barter with the Arkenstone.

He couldn’t settle on watching them together as a married couple, or being reduced to a mere dalliance on the side. Not without wanting more, without craving for that intimacy he had experienced only for a few short months and yet ached for with all of his being.

So he left. Packing up what few belongings he still had, refusing as much of the gold pressed on him as he could, he had bid his friends a very affectionate and tearful goodbye and departed back west. With every intention of going home and living out the rest of his life in Bag End as a lonely old bachelor in a too big, to quiet smial.

For that’s what he had found waiting for him.

After he’d cleared the auctioneers out of his house, after all the drama had unfolded, after his relatives and neighbors had thrown about accusations of impostors and even dark magic to explain his presence. He’d stood there in his childhood home and looked at the papers scattered across the floor, the dust, items stern carelessly around, and only saw a tomb. A place that should have been warm and familiar, should have been _home_.

But wasn’t. 

It still wasn’t home once he’d gotten back what he could of his own possessions, trying in vain to fill the gaping emptiness with things.

Hanging his parents portraits back up wasn’t home. A swell of bitter-sweetness that had risen in his chest at the sight had only reminded him of what he had lost. His father’s armchair brought back memories of kindly Bungo, his mother’s tea-set reminded him of Belladonna singing in the garden. But they were just memories of things that could no longer be. 

It was like going to put on an old, much loved jacket, only to find it didn’t fit anymore. That dependable, reliable comfort was gone, and the familiarity of it only stung with a painful nostalgia, reminding him that it was firmly in the past. And there it would stay.

All his maps and writings--what he’d found of them, it just made him laugh, perhaps a touch bitterly. No. The world wasn’t in his maps and books. But then, he couldn’t put the world up on the wall. He couldn’t frame it, or run his hands over it. And remember.

As it was, there was only one map that did get framed and hung. Though most days it made its way into his hands one way or another. One last act of burglary, Bilbo supposed. In his defense Thorin had never asked for it back, what with his mountain being so newly reclaimed and restored and all. He had never meant to keep it when it was so unceremoniously pressed into his chest on the doorstep. But then he was being sent down to Smaug, and after that it was one thing after another until the battle had been over and won. And then he found he simply couldn’t bare to part with it. Not when goodbye seemed like all there was between them anymore.

Sitting there on his bench, looking out at sky as soft clouds lazily passed by one day in late summer, he’d realized he was waiting. Some restless thing had taken ahold, sending him more often than not out of his hole and into the wide fields of the Shire, like a wind upon the grasses. It beckoned now, the sky was larger on the edges of the horizon, calling him through his windows and on the breeze with what he knew lay beyond. 

It had become harder and harder to resist, his heart a compass pointing unerringly true. For the Shire, he began to realize, could no longer call him home.

Home was the smell of pine trees and gruff laughter. It was scowling and cursing and all together too much hair in the most ridiculous of places. Loyalty, bonds formed through days and nights of shared troubles and joys. And such a warmth he hadn’t felt in years. It was sitting by a campfire on a cold night, sandwiched between his two favorite people in the whole world, watching the sparks rise into the sky, the stars spanning out above them like a canvas. Home was no structure of wood and earth. It was solid as rock and warm as a hearth and steady and dependable as two heartbeats.

All of half the world away.

The Shire was too small and too vast at the same time. All space filled with things that were wrong. Bag End only reminded him of the love his parents had for one another and their son. They wouldn’t want him to stay if it made him so unhappy. 

So there wasn’t much for it. 

It had taken him till late summer to finalize everything, to get his affairs in order and sort out all the little odds and ends of a life that no longer felt like his own. Not even a full year had passed before he was leaving again, this time for good. He’d left Bag End to his young cousin Drogo Baggins along with many of its possessions. The few heirlooms and personal affects he couldn’t bare to part with had been entrusted to his grandfather. He could always visit, after all.

Watching the gentle hills of the Shire slowly turn into rougher terrain made something settle within him. It still wasn’t right. But it was better.

He hadn’t given too much thought about where he would go (aside from the one place he refused to think on) yet his feet had soon taken him to Rivendell, while taking great care to avoid the troll cave. No, dwelling on those memories wouldn’t have done him much good at all.

Lord Elrond had been most pleased to see him, if not a bit concerned and annoyingly perceptive to his plight. Rivendell really was beautiful, and a part of him was very tempted to simply hole himself up in the library among the books and ancient writings and happily ignore the rest of the world. Yet the flawless elegance and peace of the place had begun to grate on him, and soon enough he’d found his feet taking him back out into the wild, hoping to clear the mountains before winter set in.

 

After that things seemed to fall apart. He’d narrowly avoided a few goblins while sheltering from a storm, only to be set upon by bandits as he cleared the pass. Small and agile Bilbo may have been, but they far outnumbered him. He’d settled for tossing his coin pouch at them and fleeing, fearing what would happen should they search him and find his mithril shirt. Hopefully they’d be satisfied with his gold and not bother to chase after him, though he made sure to slip on his ring and spend the night in a tree as a precaution.

Of course, that was when it began to snow. Turned around from his sudden flight, Bilbo soon found himself more than a bit disoriented. Last time he’d traveled these parts he’d been given a lift by the eagles well and over the lands just east of the mountains, and the snow changed the landscape so dramatically he had no hope of finding the path. There was no Carrock visible in the distance to walk towards, and even then it was perhaps a good week before he could reach it on foot. 

In fact, he highly suspected he might still be out there wandering around uselessly if it weren’t for the raven.

Swooping down to land on a pine tree and regarding him curiously, the large black bird had come as a surprise. A very welcome one, as he’d spent a few miserable days walking in what he hoped to be the right direction, trudging through the cold and the snow and missing his dwarves with a fierce ache he refused to dwell on.

“Melekûn! Melekuûn!” it had croaked at him. Bilbo’s heart had leapt, recognizing the khuzdul word for ‘hobbit’. It must have been one of the messenger ravens, no doubt on some errand of importance between Erebor and the Blue Mountains. 

“H-Hullo!” he’d replied quickly, his voice hoarse from the cold and lack of use. “Do you, would you happen to know where Beorn’s house is? It’s a great log cabin with lots of, ah, flowers and animals. Only I, I don’t suppose there’s many out this time of year...” he’d trailed off, biting his lip doubtfully. Maybe this raven didn’t understand common.

“Storm is coming,” it squawked after a pause, flapping its wings importantly. “Not safe for melekûn.”

“A storm—oh dear.”

“This way!” 

Bilbo had found himself scrambling after the raven that took off in an altogether different direction than the one he had been heading in. The bird was kind enough to wait for him to catch up before flying further, the hobbit moving quite slowly due to the snow and increasing wind. 

By nightfall Bilbo had been completely astonished to find himself at an actual _town_ smack in the middle of the wild, complete with buildings and houses and lovely things that blocked out the weather. The raven had flown off after seeing him to the inn, hopefully seeking its own shelter from the now prominent snowstorm waging outside.

And here he was now, in this cold, rundown basement of an inn, listening to the sounds of merriment and drunken, thudding footsteps of strange big folk above him. It was a relief to be out of the wind and snow, but he couldn’t say he felt very safe or secure at all. 

It was Yule tomorrow, how could he have forgotten? He’d given it little thought in Rivendell, planning to be safely at Beorn’s by then and spend it holed up with the great man and his many furry animal companions. Getting turned around and accosted by bandits had rather ruined those plans, and driven all thoughts of anything more than basic survival to the back of his mind. It was only when he had caught a glimpse of a calendar behind the bar and made a few calculations of how long he’d been wandering that he’d realized the date.

There was a sudden surge of sound from above him, and the hobbit made a small distressed noise as the humans began what sounded like a dance of some sort, complete with rhythmic foot stomping and yelling. Glancing warily at the somewhat sunken ceiling above him, Bilbo could only hope that it would hold out under the strain and not crack or cave in on top of him. He’d survived goblins, spiders, trolls, a dragon and even a battle. Being accidentally crushed by drunken partying humans was simply inglorious at this point. 

Not that he longed for a glorious death or any such nonsense, but he’d rather pass this one over, thank you.

 

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, that he’d be alone for Yule in this unwelcoming place. At least at Bag End he had his basic comforts met, even if not his emotional ones. But this—well. It could be worse. Yule was a day to be thankful for what one had. And if Bilbo couldn’t spend the day with those his heart yearned for, at least he could take comfort in knowing they were safe and happy and contented with each other. It would have to be enough.

 

A set of footsteps thudding down the stairs to the basement broke the hobbit from his thoughts. His room was off a hallway, so he figured it was someone going to the cellar a bit further down. He still tensed as they passed, glancing at the door to make sure it was still locked. There was only one kind of unexpected company he wanted, and it most certainly wasn’t a strange human freshly come from the bar.

After a minute or so the footsteps came back down the hall, and Bilbo waited to hear the creaking of the stairs as they returned to the inn proper. Soft muttering had his ears twitching, and he shifted on the bed, fingers inching towards his pocket with his ring. The low voice was met with what sounded like the chirp of a bird, and then—

The door rattled, holding against the lock.

Pulse pounding in his ears, he scrambled back in alarm, the door suddenly swinging open and admitting a figure in the hallway—

 

“Bilbo!” 

Before he could do more than yelp, the hobbit found himself suddenly crushed in a tight embrace, held closely against a larger chest. 

“Thank Mahal! You had us all so worried, lad,” Fighting against arms that held him tightly, Bilbo pulled back enough to properly take in the sight of the all too familiar dimpled grin beaming at him.

“Bofur,” he breathed in wonder, completely overwhelmed at the sudden appearance of his dear friend. Bofur beamed at him, tugging him in for another crushing hug that the hobbit happily returned. A laugh escaped him, bubbling up joyfully at the much-welcomed company. "It's so good to see you!"

“Aye lad, couldn’t forget this handsome mug, now could you?” Grateful tears began to press at the hobbit's eyes and he fought them back, sniffling.

“But, but what on earth are you doing here?” he asked, voice slightly warbling, pulling away to wipe at his eyes. Bofur narrowed his eyes. 

“I could ask you the same thing! Sellin' your cozy hole and wanderin' the wilds,” the dwarf admonished, frowning at the hobbit. “What on earth where you thinking?”

“What? How, how do you know about…” there was a small squawk to his left. Frowning, Bilbo looked around Bofur’s arm to see a familiar raven perched on the bed beside them. “Oh. Hullo again.”

“This here’s Triffká,” the dwarf stroked the bird’s beak with a finger, the Raven nipping him affectionately. “Right smart girl she is, she’s been keepin' an eye out for you. If it wasn’t for her we would have no idea where you’d gone, you know,” The dwarf sent him a stern glare.

“I am perfectly able to handle myself, thank you very much,” Bilbo retorted, sniffing, feeling somewhat offended. 

“Lost! Lost!” chirped Triffká, hopping around on the bed.

“Oh hush,” the hobbit muttered with a scowl. 

“Go on now, we’ve found him,” Bofur said, giving the raven a small nudge. She quickly took off, flying out of the room and into the hallway. “Now, are you alright?” he asked quietly, turning back to the smaller being. The dwarf’s eyes were concerned as he looked the hobbit over carefully, his mouth curling downwards.

“Ye-yes, I’m quite alright,” Bilbo replied, flustered with the sudden scrutiny. It felt so nice to be around someone who really cared for him again, he'd missed all his dwarves terribly. “I, I really can’t say how glad I am to see you again, Bofur.”

“Aye, I’ve been missing you too, laddie” he gave Bilbo a soft smile, and then sobered, casting a dark glare at the room, “Come on."

Bilbo found himself tugged to his feet, “What are you doing?”

Bofur shot him a look. "You don’t actually think I’d let you spend the night down in this miserable hole, do you? We can't have you catchin' cold again! This is _no_ place for a hobbit, and certainly not for you,” Bofur scooped up Bilbo’s pack and took the smaller being’s hand, firmly pulling him out into the hall.

Bilbo spluttered, protesting weakly even as he allowed himself to be lead. “Look, I know it’s not great, but I don’t actually have the coin to afford—“

“Nope. You’ll be stayin’ with us where it’s warm, Mr. Hobbit, and that’s’ final!”

“Who’s _us?_ ” Instead of answering, the dwarf kept walking, keeping a firm hold of the hobbit’s hand as they made their way through the great crowd of big people and across the inn to the staircase leading to the nicer rooms on the second floor. It was immediately warmer, and Bilbo shivered in relief at the welcome change. They walked to down a hallway before Bofur let them into a room near the end of it.

“Look at what I found in the basement,” the hatted dwarf called out cheerfully, pulling Bilbo in behind him. 

“Now Bilbo, that doesn’t sound very comfortable,” admonished Nori, grinning.

“Nori!”

.*:*:*.

Bilbo was beginning to feel more and more as if he were a captive taken to be interrogated by the way he found himself wedged between the two dwarves on the (much more comfortable) bed.

“For the last time, _no_ , I’m not being threatened or blackmailed or any such nonsense!”

“What are we supposed to think when you’ve gone and sold your home and left the Shire,” Nori asked incredulously.

“I didn’t _sell_ Bag End, I left it to my cousin,” corrected Bilbo.

“Ach, he’s right Nori, this changes everythin’!” exclaimed Bofur, throwing his hands up. Bilbo stuck his tongue out.

“Well I _beg_ your pardon, but if I’d expected I’d be hunted down by a bunch of dwarves I’d have tried to leave a message with Gandalf or something of the like,” he muttered darkly before glancing up. “Not that I’m not very glad to see you both,” he added quietly.

“Mmhmm…I don’t believe that for one minute,” challenged Nori, raising one of his impressive eyebrows. Bilbo gaped at him. “I think you wouldn’t mind if a certain King and his captain of the guard came after you, if you catch my meaning,” the thief added with a grin, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

A brilliant blush spread across Bilbo’s face. “I—that’s not—!“ they both began to chuckle at him and he sighed, slumping down further and covering his face. “They wouldn’t. Not with the way we left things. Besides I’m sure they’re both perfectly happy in Erebor with one another—as they should be!” Bofur gave a loud snort. 

“Ahh, Bilbo, if you only knew all the pining and moping that’s been going on in the royal chambers, you’d be sick to death of it.”

Bilbo blinked, looking up with a frown. “They’re not married yet? I thought, well. They had been courting for years and were only waiting to reclaim Erebor…did something happen?”

“Ach, listen to you,” Bofur admonished, nudging the hobbit with his shoulder. “As if they could just _forget_ about their little hobbit!”

“Well they did, didn’t they?” snapped Bilbo, rubbing at his chest absently. “They weren’t exactly in a hurry to say anything to me when I was there. I thought they would be happy to see me go.” Nori made a sound of distress. 

“ _Bilbo,_ ” sighed Bofur, leaning down to peer at the hobbit carefully, eyes serious. “You have to know you mean a great deal to all of us. No one wanted to see you go, but we all knew how much your home meant to you and wanted you to be happy. But then you sell your home and take off into the wild without a word! Of course we worried!”

Bilbo made a small sound. “I…oh, that, that’s really…” he sniffled and pulled out his handkerchief, rubbing his nose and blinking back a sudden rush of tears.

“Aww, c’mere,” the hobbit found himself quickly smooshed between the two dwarves in a hug. It was so warm and safe and he chocked on a laugh as something began to settle in his heart. 

“Don’t cry now, Bilbo. There’s nothing worse than a cryin’ hobbit, you know,” came Bofur’s voice from above him.

“Ugh, I know,” agreed Nori. “It’s almost as bad as Ori. And I watched him grow up. Terrible, just terrible.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo mumbled, emerging from between them. “Really, thank you. But there really wasn’t anything for you to worry about.” 

“Oh, now that’s not true!” exclaimed Bofur. “I saved you from that horrible little cell in the basement, didn’t I?!”

“And good old Thriffká got you out of the storm,” added Nori pointedly.

“Alright, yes, you did,” Bilbo sighed, regarding his two friends fondly. “And truly, I’m very touched that you two went out so of your way to do that. It…it really means a lot to me,” he admitted quietly.

“Well of _course_ we did! You’re family, Bilbo.”

“…Oh.”

“Ach, don’t cry again! I can’t take it.”

“You’re my family, too,” admitted Bilbo softly. “The whole company. I, I’ve missed everyone one so much, and nothing felt right…”

“He’s sniffling!” Nori reached over to smack Bofur up the side of his head. “We talked about this, they won’t be happy at all at this rate!”

“Serves them right, considerin’ everything,” the miner muttered darkly.

"'They’?” asked Bilbo, a sudden feeling of unease. The two dwarves exchanged a glance over his head.

There was a tapping at the window. Nori slid off the bed and opened it, and Thriffká hopped inside to perch on his arm, chirping something to him in khuzdul. 

“Ah…now, now Bilbo,” began Bofur carefully, drawing the hobbit’s attention away from the spymaster. “When we found out you sold Bag End, everyone was worried somethin’ had happened to you. Nori and I got on it right away tryin’ to figure out where you had gone and if you were in trouble, but you have to know that everyone wanted to help…”

A knock at the door had the hobbit giving a slight flinch, “What…what’s going on?” The faint guilt in Bofur’s eyes had his stomach twisting in dread.

“We couldn’t convince them to…well. Look, now, Bilbo,” the dwarf began firmly. “I’m sorry for springing this on you. Just remember you don’t have to do or say anythin' you don’t feel ready for, and if you’re uncomfortable at all, me and Nori will be just across the hall, so feel free to give us a shout, alright?”

“Bofur…” Bilbo said urgently, his pulse picking up. The dwarf squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“Really lad, _anything_ you’re uncomfortable with,” Nori opened the door a crack and Bofur got up and joined him, leaving Bilbo alone on the bed and feeling increasingly more panicked.

“Keep it clean, you two,” the ginger haired dwarf warned as he slipped out into the hall. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Grovelin' more like,” Bofur muttered as he exited.

And then Bilbo was alone, with the two dwarves he loved more than anything shuffling guiltily into the room, the door closing with a condemning _click_ behind them.

.*:*:*.

“Don’t faint again,” Dwalin meant it to sound like an order but it came out as more of a plea.

“Oh no. _No_ , no this can’t be happening.”

“Bilbo. Master Baggins,” Thorin began quietly, looking solemn and pained in that grand way of his. “We have wronged you greatly, and though we do not deserve your forgiveness we place ourselves at your mercy, and ever at your service, dearest of hobbits…” The king dropped to his knees before the bed where Bilbo was huddled up against the headboard in alarm.

Bilbo shook his head in denial, feeling his hands beginning to shake “Nope. Not doing this.” 

Dwalin lowered himself to his knees as well, placing a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. 

“Stand up,” he hissed at them, heart pounding away frantically in his chest. “Please, stand up! This is ridiculous! You bloody dwarves are always so _dramatic_ —get up so we can talk this over like civilized people!”

“We also brought you food,” Dwalin offered quietly, reaching behind himself for a tray heavily laden with all kinds of goodies.

“Well—that’s—good!” the hobbit’s stomach chose that moment to let loose a loud rumble, remembering all the abuse it had put up with recently. “You can, you can bring that over here. And for goodness sakes get off the floor! If you really want to _serve_ me, or whatever nonsense, than bring that over here and sit down.”

.*:*:*.

After Bilbo had devoured everything on the tray (neither dwarf would accept his offer that they join him, which suited his belly just fine) he held a huge mug of tea in his hands a regarded the two warily. The food had settled him somewhat and allowed his mind to make some semblance of normality out of this utterly perplexing situation.

There were a thousand different things he had imagined he’d say if he ever found himself face to face with these two dwarves again, and yet he settled on, “Why aren’t you married?”

Dwalin looked up from the floor sharply and hissed a curse under his breath. Thorin looked shocked, his hands clenching into fists by his sides. “Bilbo,” the King all but pleaded, “surely you must know…”

The hobbit let out a noise of frustration and held up a hand, “Look, I’m still angry at the two for you for not even saying goodbye when I left, but I consider you both very dear friends. I want you to be _happy_ , you both, you both really deserve it, you know?” he sniffed again, and dug out his handkerchief. His emotions were getting all rung out and drat it all, but it was making him weepy. “After everything. And if the reason you haven’t done it already is out if some, some dwarven honour _thing_ , than that’s, that’ fine with me. I pardon you, or whatever it is I’m supposed to do.”

Both dwarves looked at each other in confusion. Bilbo kept going before he lost his nerve.

“I understand that things didn’t work out between us, and that’s, well, that’s life, isn’t it? I don’t want, retribution or any such nonsense! I’ve had quite enough of grudges and vengeance and all of that, thank you. Don’t hold yourselves back on my account! It was, it was just a nice idea, but it couldn’t, that’s all it was. You don’t need to honour what was just a…a dalliance, don’t…”

To his mortification his eyes began to water, and he quickly wiped them with his handkerchief. “Drat it all, this confusticated cold,” he muttered, resolutely not looking at either of them. He didn’t know if he could bare to see the relief on their faces. 

“…Bilbo,” that voice has quite a bit closer than he had expected, and he looked up in alarm to see Thorin now perched beside him on the bed, looking completely destroyed. “We have…we’ve spoken to you of Ones before, haven’t we?” he asked, voice nearly trembling. He nodded shakily in response, feeling the mattress dip on his other side as Dwalin inched closer.

“A dwarf’s perfect match, the one their soul, their very being is a part of,” Thorin swallowed with some difficulty and reached out to gently cup Bilbo’s cheek. He shook at the contact but was unable to pull away. “Dwailn is my one,” Thorin explained, and the hobbit shut his eyes, holding back a sob. He’d known this, but to hear it said only brought home how he could never have what he yearned for.

“Aye, Thorin is my one,” confirmed Dwalin gently, and there was his great arm sneaking around Bilbo’s soft middle. “But so are you.”

Eyes snapping open, Bilbo spun around to stare at the guard incredulously. “That’s…that’s not…”

“Some dwarves are meant to be three,” stated Thorin softly, his arms joining Dwalin’s around the small hobbit between them.

.*:*:*.

“I wish I could still be angry with you…” Bilbo sighed. He buried his face in the warm chest beneath his cheek. Large hands were rubbing his back soothingly and pressed into them greedily. “But I’m honestly just so glad you’re both here I haven’t the stomach for it. I thought that, that well…”

“That we didn’t care for you.”

“Right gits we were,” Dwalin added gruffly, nuzzling just behind the hobbit’s ear and causing him to shiver. “I told you we should have just ambushed him an hugged it out.”

“No. Bilbo deserved a proper apology.”

“So taking forever to come up with one and letting him leave in the meantime was better?”

“Shut up.”

Bilbo giggled between them, earning himself a soft poke in his middle. “Well now you’ve managed both. Even if you made a bit of a mess of it, I still accept.”

“You are, as always, far too kind, Bilbo,” Thorin murmured, Dwalin growling softly in agreement. “We deserve only your scorn.”

The hobbit clucked his tongue, “Such nonsense. Isn’t that for me to decide? Besides, I’d much rather have your affection, though I may take you both up on your services. But only if you accept mine as well.”

“Thank you,” Thorin breathed into his hair.

“Wasn’t looking forward to getting dismembered by Nori and Bofur,” admitted Dwalin quietly, “but if you change your mind, they’d be only too happy to get revenge on your behalf.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” soothed Bilbo, patting the dwarf’s thick arm. “You’re their King and his most loyal guard. Surely there’s some rule banning such behavior.”

“Balin would have sided with them,” Thorin grumbled, his huge calloused hand cupping the warm pudge of the hobbit’s hip and rubbing his thumb across it softly. If Bilbo could have purred he would have. “We were the reason you left, as the whole company would never tire of reminding us.”

“I would have still left even if we had settled things,” the hobbit pointed out. Beneath him Thorin suddenly stiffened, and Dwalin’s hold on him tightened. “Oh stop, I didn’t mean it like that,” Bilbo sighed. “Only, I would have needed to go back to settle things in the Shire if I was to live in Erebor.” He could feel the tension leave both dwarves, and he hid a smile in Thorin’s chest.

“You shouldn’t have been alone,” came Dwalin’s gruff voice from behind him. His great paws slid around to hold Bilbo’s (sadly travel-shrunken) belly possessively. “We should have gone with you.”

“You’re both far too important to the mountain to up and leave so soon after it was restored,” argued Bilbo. Though the thought of his dwarves in the Shire (as welcomed guests this time) was pleasant indeed. Perhaps they could visit sometime in the coming year? “Besides, things worked out. Perhaps it was for the best that things happened as they did.”

Dwalin scoffed behind him and tugged Bilbo impossibly closer, completely plastering himself to the smaller’s back. “Not when it gets you attacked by bandits and stuck in some miserable human-made hole all alone.”

“Alright, that wasn’t much fun but it…wasn’t…”

He trailed off as Thorin gently cupped his face and tilted it up. So much love was in that gaze that it left him speechless before it. “Nothing could be worth the heartache we put you through. Thinking we had abandoned you, that you were not loved and _missed_ —“ the dwarf lent down and placed a firm kiss on Bilbo’s forehead, staying there and just breathing against his skin. 

“Aye, we have much to atone for, little bunny,” rumbled Dwalin. Bilbo made a small sound and clutched at them both all the tighter, still not quite believing that this was really happening, that this was truly real and his two very much loved dwarves were really holding him close and telling him that his feeling were returned.

“Then, we’d better get started, don’t you think?”

And they did just that, long into the night.

.*:*:*.

Late the next morning Bilbo woke with a yawn, stretching and wriggling lazily from where he was still held securely between Thorin and Dwalin, satisfied and contented as a cat.

He’d been unaware of just how strong a reaction the scratch of a beard over his bare skin would wring from him, but now that he _knew_ how sadly deprived he’s been his whole life he had every intention of enjoying that delicious sensation as much as he could. After all, there were still a few places that his dwarves hadn’t managed to explore just yet. Though certainly not through lack of trying.

They had all day to do just that. And the day after that, and the next after that and so on. Though really, they should probably head back to Erebor at some point. There was after all, the royal chambers that Bilbo had been told so much about and he felt he was rather owed an intimate introduction to them. Not to mention the wedding they had to plan.

But all of that could wait.

It didn’t matter that he was in some run down inn in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t matter that the mattress was lumpy and the sheets scratchy, or that the walls were a bit stained and cracked in places. Bilbo was tucked warmly between two very dear and very loved dwarves, his bare skin pressing deliciously against theirs, warm breaths gently rustling his curls and fanning over his back, limbs tangled together in a lazy sprawl. Snuggling closer he squeezed his eyes shut, letting joy and pure contentment wash over him like a wave he’d very much like to drown in. 

Because this, this was home. This was where he belonged. 

And here, safe and loved and so very lucky, he’d stay.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is gratuitous hurt/comfort fluffiness. I may be ashamed, but I regret nothing!
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://teaxdragon.tumblr.com/)


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